


we're the killing kind

by cassandralied



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Arranged Marriage, F/F, what if we planned a revolution and we were both girls? haha jk unless
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:20:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23296141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cassandralied/pseuds/cassandralied
Summary: It was after that when Basira hugged her tight, smelling like rainwater and earth, and whispered in her ear, “I think I know a way we can both get out of this alive.”That’s when they’d started pretending to be in love.--the hunger games au nobody asked for
Relationships: Basira Hussain/Alice "Daisy" Tonner
Comments: 8
Kudos: 43





	we're the killing kind

**Author's Note:**

> I do not consent to have this posted anywhere except for Archive of Our Own.

Alice Tonner is eighteen. Alice Tonner is eighteen and she’s staring into a mirror in a dressing room far from home trying not to have a panic attack.

She’s wearing a _wedding dress_ for fuck’s sake. It’s white and silky, and if she so much as turns the wrong way, it’ll get destroyed.

(Destroying pristine things is sort of a specialty of hers.)

Forty-eight hours ago, she stood in front of the entire country of Panem and declared her love for a girl she barely knew.

Twenty-four hours ago, she’d learned that she was a threat to the current government, and possibly the entire way the system worked.

Twenty-three hours ago, she’d learned she had to get married.

She hates wedding dresses.

She’d told Basira about the daisy scar on her shoulder in confidence. It had been raining in the Games that night, and they were cold and wet and Daisy was pretty sure they were both going to die.

Basira wouldn’t stop shivering, and she looked like she was going to cry, and Daisy had just started talking.

She hadn’t known there were cameras, how could she? But it didn’t matter. The ‘touching moment’ went viral, and Daisy’s private story wasn’t her own anymore. That’s when the trend of wearing daisy chains started.

It was after that when Basira hugged her tight, smelling like rainwater and earth, and whispered in her ear, “I think I know a way we can both get out of this alive.”

That’s when they’d started pretending to be in love.

There’s a knock on the door, and Daisy jumps. She half-expects it to be a guard going to drag her off to be executed, or the corpses of one of the tributes she’d killed, wet-eyed and laughing.

But it’s just Basira in a wedding dress of her own, although hers is a soft gold, and far less ostentatious than Daisy’s monstrosity. She actually looks like a bride, not a little girl playing dress-up.

“How are you doing?”

Daisy snorts. “Fantastic.”

Basira smiles, a little sheepishly. “Can I help you with your dress?”

Daisy shrugs, and Basira comes to stand behind her. She only comes up to Daisy’s shoulder, and her breath is hot on the back of Daisy’s neck. The blonde tries not to shiver.

“This seems like an unnecessary amount of lace,” Basira murmurs, doing up the two highest buttons in the back that Daisy hadn’t been able to reach.

“Trying to make me look less dangerous, I think.”

Basira snorts. She reaches for a brush and dabs Daisy’s cheeks with blush. “Close your eyes.”

“Why?”

“Your liner’s smudged, I’m just going to fix it.”

Basira meets Daisy’s eyes in the mirror, so honest. “If I was going to hurt you, Tonner, I’d have done it in the arena.”

Daisy sighs and closes her eyes; again she feels Basira’s hot breath, this time on her nose, and the delicate touch of fingers in the creases of her eyelids.

“All better,” Basira murmurs after an eternity. Daisy blinks slowly. Basira’s incredibly close.

They’d only kissed once before, and that had been all for show. All in front of cameras and Basira making weird moaning noises like a girl in a movie, and Daisy trying to keep up, trying to make it look like kissing girls in bloodied arenas in front of billions of people and the sociopaths who’d set this whole thing up was something she was into.

“Can I kiss you?” Daisy whispers now, against Basira’s lips. She expects the other girl to deny her, or to say something clever, but Basira looks as scared as she does when she nods.

Daisy wishes _this_ could be their first kiss, because it’s private and sweet. Because it’s a soft, closed-mouth kiss that ends in them just standing there, breathing in each others’ air. Enjoying the quiet before the storm.

Basira really is beautiful. Daisy supposes that in terms of arranged marriages for survival, she could have done worse.

“We’re in this together,” Basira says. “Okay?”

Daisy nods, and part of her is beginning to believe it.

* * *

The wedding itself is horrible, of course. It’s officiated by a man who looks a million who’s more interested in talking about himself than the marrying couple. Daisy’s actually straining with the effort not to roll her eyes.

But she doesn’t trip in the heels she’d been manhandled into and rip her dress, so that’s something. Basira actually looks proud when she smiles up at her at the altar, gold hijab framing her heart-shaped face, and that’s something too.

Finally, they’re married and they do a standard, sterile kiss in front of the applauding crowds. Daisy probably reeks of hairspray and perfume, but Basira leans into her like she doesn’t care. Probably just a really good actress.

The first victor to congratulate them is a short Asian woman with close-cropped hair and tattoos of flames. “I think the Gamemakers were shitting themselves during your kiss in the arena,” she says, and lifts her champagne glass, which is definitely filled with hard alcohol. “Cheers. I love watching those fuckers panic.”

Daisy grins. “Wish I could’ve seen it.”

“Maybe you’ll get your opportunity,” the woman says, and her eyes flash cryptically. “Either way, I hope you’ll consider me a friend.”

“Thank you, Miss Perry,”Basira hisses, practically drags Daisy away from her.

“What’s wrong?”

“That woman burned half her competition alive during her games. Thirteen kids, all in one go.”

“Shit.”

“She laughed during it.” Basira’s face is grave. “She _enjoyed_ it.”

Daisy had enjoyed parts of it too. The feeling of blood and viscera under her nails. The panicked looks on the faces of the poor fuckers who’d thought they could catch Basira in a trap. The sound of cut-off screaming.

She looks away. “Thanks for the warning.”

“I’ve got you,” Basira reassures her, and slides her warm hand into Daisy’s, squeezes it. Daisy tries to smile.

“Who’s that one, then?” Daisy asks out of the corner of her mouth as they watch a blonde woman in a dark velvet dress laugh at something their president has said.

“Annabelle Cane. She was the year before us,” Basira replies lowly. She hasn’t touched her champagne flute, and Daisy’s pretty sure she’s just holding it to be polite. “She didn’t so much as touch a weapon during her round. Just turned everyone else against each other.”

That’s pretty fucking terrifying. Daisy was liking her chances against the slighter woman, even in heels, but now that Basira’s brought it up, there’s a cunning in her eyes that scares her.

When he’s finished with Annabelle, President Bouchard makes his way towards them too quickly for Daisy to find an exit route.

“And how is the happy couple?” he asks, as if he knows something they don’t.

Basira squeezes Daisy’s hand, and she actually sounds genuine when she says, “I never imagined it would be like this. This is the best day of my life, President Bouchard. Thank you so much for the beautiful wedding.”

She sounds so much like an awestruck little girl, so little like a threat, that it makes Daisy want to laugh.

Bouchard waves a hand. “Elias, please. It’s my pleasure. We don’t often get such a love story. The entire nation was enthralled.”

He smiles like a shark, and Daisy wants to rip his eyes out. She forces her face into a neutral smile, though. “Yeah. It’s great.”

“You haven’t touched your champagne, Basira,” he observes in a voice entirely too mild. “I hope nothing’s wrong.”

Basira flushes anxiously. “I’m, ah,”

“She’s holding it for me,” Daisy interjects, and with her free hand snatches the champagne away from Basira and drains it in a few swallows, as noisily and uncouthly as possible. She smacks her lips together, and Bouchard looks appropriately disgusted.

“Thanks, babe," Daisy says cheerfully. She doesn't know why Basira wasn't drinking (maybe something to do with her religion?) but hell if the fucker's going to needle her about it.

“Of course,” Basira smiles up at her, and it’s genuine.

“Have a good rest of the evening,” their president says magnanimously. “Oh, and Miss Tonner?”

Daisy looks at him, waiting.

“Take care,” he murmurs. “We all saw how…protective you were in the arena. Some people might try to use that against you.”

* * *

“We’re joining the revolution to take down Elias,” Daisy declares that night as they awkwardly settle into the same bed.

Basira looks over at her dryly. “I wasn’t aware there was a revolution.”

“Then we’ll create one. That fucker’s going to die.”

“Is this because he made you get married?” her wife sounds like she’s trying not to laugh.

“No, it’s because he fucking —“ _threatened you_ , Daisy doesn’t say. Instead, she says, “I just don’t like bureaucrats. Especially ones who condone child murder.”

“That’s fair,” Basira murmurs. They’re holding hands under the covers, but otherwise they aren’t touching.

“Goodnight, Daisy.”

“Goodnight, Basira.”

But Daisy doesn’t sleep for a long time after that, and her dreams are full of bloodied teeth and corpses.

She dreams of killing Elias, of tearing out his carotid, but when her teeth close around flesh he turns into Basira and Daisy wakes up gasping.


End file.
